Durrës, Albania: more than beaches and bunkers

Dominoes on the beach in Durrës, Albania.

During my 2019 trip through Albania and Eastern Europe, I spent some time in Durrës, a coastal city with more than 2,500 years of history. Settled by Greek colonists and later shaped by Romans, Byzantines, and Venetians, it has a fascinating mix of influences. I wandered through the local museum, absorbing the layers of the city’s past, and climbed a building with sweeping views over the Adriatic that hinted at its Venetian heritage. Today, Durrës hums with the energy of a busy port city, yet around every corner, its long and layered history is quietly on display.

Having exhausted the must-sees of Tirana, travel writers suggest escaping the capital on day trips to other Albanian towns and cities such as Berat to see its pretty houses, Shkodër for the photography museum, or Durrës for the beach. While renowned primarily as a port city, Durrës offers more than beaches. My initial reason for wanting to visit was mainly to discover some of the 750,000 bunkers supposedly scattered across this relatively small country, rather than to explore the beach. Actually finding out where to see the bunkers, however, proved quite difficult. Unlike other tourist attractions, there seems to be no online map plotting their location, though a book or interactive website is apparently in the works.

My online search revealed the possibility of a day tour from Tirana to Durrës, alliteratively titled Beaches and Bunkers. It all sounded perfect until I was quoted a price of 149 Euros, around AUD $250. Up for a challenge, I concluded that despite the lack of online information about public transport to Durrës, it must exist. I was determined to persevere, even though I was alone and spoke no Albanian.

Some of my friends have tried to instill fear in me about traveling solo. My mantra for this trip became, "What's the worst that can happen?" Usually, the worst that happens for me is getting lost, dealing with language barriers, feeling embarrassed when I make mistakes, or walking longer distances than planned—all quite survivable.

After comparing various travel blogs and online sites, which varied in terms of where and when you could take the bus, I gleaned at least one piece of consistent information: buses depart every 30 minutes, and you can catch either a large bus or a furgon, a small mini bus.

Excursion day arrived. My first stop was a bus stop roughly in the direction the blogs suggested. There was no signage, but since people were catching buses every five minutes or so, I figured I was close. I knew I would have to ask someone for more information, as there was no other way to know if I was in the right place. I approached a handsome young couple and was firmly told that no, I would need to go around the corner and cross the road to catch the bus to Durrës. Sound advice. Eventually, I found what appeared to be a yard full of buses.

Instead of traditional visual signage, the drivers indicated their destinations by wailing and chanting the names of the locations. Although some buses helpfully displayed signs in the windows, this was not the case for Durrës. Realizing I would need help once again, I randomly chose a driver, an older man who spoke no English. He proceeded to indicate, and eventually walk me, to the spot where the Durrës bus could be caught. The Durrës bus, a furgon, still did not display a sign, although the driver decided to put one in the window halfway through the trip.

local boys trying out shooting.

I had read that these minibuses only depart once full, so luckily for me, it was nearly full and I found a seat near the front, giving me a great view along the way. When I politely gestured with body language to see if the seat was free, the large woman sharing it deliberately ignored me and refused to make eye contact. Helpfully, the woman on the seat opposite indicated that I could indeed take the seat. At this point, I doubted that my seat companion and I would be swapping contact details and becoming best friends. In fact, she even wriggled her large posterior partway onto my side, leaving me barely any space.

Partway along the road, the driver pulled over and climbed into the back to collect our money. Feeling thankful for being prepared, I produced the correct amount in lek. The fare was only 150 lek, around $2, great value for 40 minutes of travel and entertainment. The bus stopped in the middle of the highway from time to time to pick up more passengers. There were no formal bus stops, and passengers were sometimes dropped off in the middle of the highway, which meant stepping over the railing to get off the busy road.

View of the beach from the Venetian tower.

Durrës offered a delightful mix of people watching along the promenade and exploring ancient ruins, with plenty of stops along the way for coffee. Cafes in Albania seem to have a simple philosophy: coffee and nothing else. Most people sip espresso, and it’s clearly a way of life to meet friends several times a day and night over these tiny cups of black coffee. Bars serve alcohol, restaurants serve food, and finding a cafe that does both can be a bit of a treasure hunt in Tirana.

Happy to embrace the Albanian way of life, I indulged in multiple coffee stops, each offering a view of the beach. After yesterday’s pasta, risotto, and seafood marathon, salad felt like the perfect lunch. I stumbled upon a Mediterranean-style fast food cafe, where 'fast' just means you order at the counter rather than wait for table service. My English pronunciation of Caesar salad was gently corrected by the stoic young server to 'suzza,' so I listened carefully when my 'suzza' salad was announced ready. Between the sips of coffee and the tiny victories over language, it was a perfectly Albanian kind of day.

Classical sculpture provides shade for boys and a girl.

Once back at the bus stop, I alighted from a large bus with an obvious Tirane sign. Too easy. This time, the fare was only 130 lek, even more of a bargain. Along the return trip on the industrial highway, I noticed a familiar pattern: ubiquitous large hotels with mid-century sans serif font signage, shells of buildings either decaying or left half-built, old men on bicycles, and cows on median strips. I wondered whether Callum Morton, the architect-trained, contemporary Melbourne-based artist, had used Albania as inspiration for his postmodern hotel 'sculpture' visible along the EastLink freeway in Melbourne.

After tallying up my daily expenses on xe.com, I realized that the AUD $16 total I spent was a huge saving compared to the AUD $250 I had been quoted for a tour. Although I missed out on the bunkers, I caught public transport like a local and wished I could have had a few more days to explore the many other Albanian towns and cities, all for AUD $16 per day.